garden of paradise
by princess-kally
Summary: on the stages of a life, late nights, cups of coffee, and the choices we make. how do you measure a lifetime? for Olivia ('Epic Writing Fail'). happy birthday!
1. childhood

This is a gift-fic for Olivia, or "Epic-Writing Fail". HAPPY BIRTHDAY GURL!

This story will be updated a lot faster than my other story, _butterfly_, due to fact that the majority of this having been already written (but not edited). With that in mind, please enjoy!

Parts of the summary shamelessly stolen from RENT's '_Seasons of Love_'.

* * *

Their first meeting is by the swings on the edge of Erev, on the cliff that overlooked the setting sun.

"Hello," she says, and settles herself into the swing beside him, either oblivious, or ignoring his glare. "I'm Oz, what's your name~?"

He stares at her for what feels to be only the barest of moments – longer, if the deepening crease in her brow is anything to go by. The silence stretches between the two of them, two heart beats, three heart beats, thumping away.

"Eckhart."

That done, he turns away from her to look up at the heavens. A myriad of colours lazily spread themselves across the sky, brilliant splashes of colour, to which the specific shades he knows the names not. Only occasionally will he spot the last vestiges of pure, day time blue to peek through. The red light cast upon the skies by the light of the setting sun is bright, and so incredibly intense. It's a desert in the sky, elusive blue for an oasis, shades of yellow and orange and red for the sand. He wonders what it'd be like to fall over the edge, and watch the setting sun in free fall. Dying to something like this... It'd be collateral damage.

Unbidden, she begins to talk to him. He frowns. Her voice is high pitched, and squeaky, like that of a small child's, and sounds as if she's deliberately pitching it to give off an impression of happiness. She chatters on about the inane things of life - There is the bully in her class and the sweet pastry cakes that her mother makes for her and 'isn't it a wonderful day today?' she asks. She chatters on about hopes - 'stays sunny' and dreams 'to become a Cygnus Knight' and quite suddenly-

"Let's be friends."

Eckhart stares at her. He has barely said a word to her today, so he wonders what her motivations are. He raises his eyebrows slightly, questioning. He is given a shy smile, soft lips and pearly white teeth. Baby teeth still.

"I see you out here all the time, by yourself. Aren't you lonely?"

"No," he says. He does not seek human company, nor does he avoid it. Oz, he thinks, would be his opposite of himself. She seems to be the sort of person that would fit right in with the endless crowd of faceless people, chattering on incessantly about meaningless things, talking and talking, filling the world with useless noise.

Eckhart turns slightly to observe her better. She's pouting, eyebrows lifted upward and there is a begging look in her eyes - she's hurt. He clenches his teeth, breathes in slowly. She is precisely the sort of person who annoys him. Flighty and dreamy. Eckhart sighs. She'll forget about him once she leaves, and he'll never see her again. He will humour her for now.

"I'll be your friend."

The smile that erupts from her lips lights up her face and gives it a sense of reality - as if the person before was only a shadow of her true self. He's captured by this, captured by the life that is in her smile.

"I'll see you tomorrow then. I have to go now," she says, in lieu of a goodbye, and runs off. Eckhart blinks. Her voice is no longer so high pitched, so annoying.

His eyebrows slowly furrow. "Good-bye," he says, enunciating each part of the compound word. He watches as her visage is swallowed up by the shadows of the forest path, and sighs.

Eckhart sits on the swing, alone as usual. In the distance, the sun sets, sweeping away the imaginary desert.

She comes as promised on the next day. Oz chatters about her life - the boys had planted a stink bomb inside the toilets, and blamed the girls - mother was trying a new sweet pastry recipe and would Eckhart like a bite, here, here in my bag! -"No thank you, I am not fond of sweet things." - and wasn't it such a nice today, without a cloud in the sky? The strange, high pitched quality in her voice is still there, but Eckhart finds that he doesn't mind so much. It's... Tempered, he thinks.

Eckhart does not speak - he is simply content to listen to Oz's ramblings. There is a strange vibrancy to her voice and he finds that he does not mind her chatter as much as he thought he would.

Enough however, is enough. It's been three days.

"Why are you still here?" he asks. The sun is beginning to set again - today, it is one of the most beautiful he has seen - pale magenta streaks of light caress the wispy white clouds before their tips are consumed by the onslaught of brilliant yellows, oranges and red which spread themselves across the skies, claiming this domain, if only for a short lived amount of time.

Oz's chattering stops.

"The orphanage managers are looking for you."

"I..." Her eyes are tearing up and she looks like she is about to cry. Eckhart does not stop in his questioning.

Remember Eckhart, sometimes, no matter how harsh the truth, people need to face reality.

"There are people who care about you. You should go."

The tears are leaking faster now, leaving wet trails down her face. She's still silent, still staring at him with wide eyes. He feels the urge to wipe the tears away.

"There are people waiting." he repeats again.

"M-mummy." She drops to the ground and begins to cry in earnest, unleashing howls of pain. "Mummy is never coming back!" Eckhart hears snatches of "mummy please don't go" through desperate, gasping sobs.

Eckhart is unsure of what to do, so he kneels next to her and awkwardly pats on her on the back. "It'll be alright. The pain will fade with time." se tells her.

"How do you know?!" she half chokes, half yells at him, turning her head so fast her hair whips him in the face. Eckhart does not flinch.

He watches her. "I don't," he says calmly. "But Lady Aria says that all wounds will heal in time, even if wounds of the heart are harder to heal. Lady Aria has suffered the loss of a loved one before. I therefore have concluded that it would be logical to accept her conclusions as true."  
Even through her tears, Oz manages a gasp. It is most probably, he thinks, because this is the most he has said to her within these past days.

"All we can do is look to the future," he finishes.

Eckhart sits with her and allows her to sob into his clothes. He idly thinks that his clothes are getting wet. It doesn't matter. Clothes are replaceable. Hearts are not. Another one of Lady Aria's pearls of wisdom. Eventually, Oz's sobs die down to an occasional hiccup. He clumsily wipes away the leftover tears away with his sleeve and softly tugs at her hand.

"Let's go."

Oz allows him to gingerly lead her through the winding roads of Erev. Hesitantly, he links his hand with hers, fingers twining and locking together. Hands are such an integral part of a person - near everything is done with them. To hold hands, Eckhart muses, is a promise - a promise to face the world and its challenges together. Oz's hand is cold in his - cold and clammy and it shakes, ever so subtly. He grips it - offers his strength the only way he knows how, through the warmth of his hand.

The sun has almost finished its descent, sending streaks of brilliant yellows into the purple pink sky. Faint traces of orange lazily drift through, and occasionally, flashes of brilliant blues appear from behind the few clouds in the sky. It's far too cheerful of a sunset, he thinks. It should be raining. The heavens should open their drains and let the water loose, so that the tears and the sadness would be washed away.

As if granting his wish, soft droplets of rain begin to fall. Next to him, Oz, who has been silent all this time, sniffs.

"I hate the rain," she mutters. She stares resolutely the ground, avoiding the sky.

Eckhart turns to regard her with quiet curiosity. As if sensing his gaze, she continues.

"The rain is so grim and bleak. It covers the sky, darkens it and makes it sad."

"But there is new life after the rain."

Oz turns to look at him in surprise.

"The rain washes all the tears and the sadness away. It brings water and nourishment for the plants. It brings a new tomorrow. It brings a new beginning."

He falls in line with Oz again. Together, they tread through the rain.

The rain stops as they reach the gates of Erev. A fresh scent wafts through the island of Erev - the scent of fresh air, pollutants having been washed away from the rain. At the gates of Erev, Oz finally speaks up again.

"I guess you're right." She breathes in deeply and exhales, just as loudly. "It brings a new start."

The search party reaches them, profusely thanking Eckhart for his service. He says nothing, and watches as they take Oz away. He gives her a solemn nod.

He turns, and walks off into the opposite direction. Lady Aria will be waiting for him. The shadows of the palace walls swallow him up.

The next day, Eckhart is there again at the swings. He stares out at the at sky and watches the clouds. But today... Today he is alone.

Today, there is no Oz to bother him about the inane, mundane things of her life.

There is no Oz to talk in her annoyingly high pitched voice, no Oz to fill up the silence.

He is grateful (he is a liar).

Eckhart is alone today.

As he always is.


	2. adolescence

I forgot to mention in the first chapter that this will be done in a flash fic style. Also that I'm completely ignoring some of the canon personalities given to us in "additional" material on the MapleGlobal website.

* * *

"Do you think we ever had a choice in all this? Were our destinies written in the stars, so to speak, or were we forever meant to serve in our Lady's service, after she spoke to us in that soft, lyrical voice, and told us of the ongoing war? "

Her eyes narrow, and she gives a suspicious sniff of her coffee, before taking a cautious sip. Instead of answering the question, Oz shoots back, "It seems you've finally learned not to spike my coffee… Honestly, it's bad enough that you have alcohol in the first place." Students, as they are regularly reminded, are not permitted to have alcohol. Especially mana manipulating students.

A drunk Irina is a philosophical Irina, as Oz has found. She doesn't know why Irina keeps going back to it, considering how little it takes to get her drunk. Lightweight.

"Aww, but you still love me~"

She snorts. "Of course I do. I wouldn't put up with your sorry ass if I didn't," she says, and gives Irina a quick poke on the forehead. "Honestly, Irina, you're seventeen. You can wait a few years till you can drink alcohol legally."

There's silence. Irina's staring into her cup, eyes flicking toward her, and back again.

"No- You did not-"

"I did."

Alcohol in Erev is brewed on Erev, and diluted on Erev. Lady Solaris the Seventh – or had it been the Sixth? had very reasonably decided that having access to the strong alcohol of the outside world was a Very Bad Thing, considering the high amount of mana manipulators on here at any given time (mages, as a general rule, tended to be lightweights).

As far as Oz knows (and will ever know, as far as she is concerned. Plausibly deniability, after all) there is a small, but thriving black market alcohol trade going on. The Lady Aria turns a blind eye, mostly due to the fact that it isn't being supplied to any mages. (Now that would be a disaster.)

"What's it this time?" she asks, deliberately levelling her voice.

"Irish Whiskey." Irina flashes a smile at her. "I got the gooood stuff."

"…I'm fairly sure that it goes up to 95%."

"Yes."

Oz sinks into their sofa, and slams her head into the wall, once.

"There, there," Irina stumbles her way over to the sofa. "It could be worse," she says, cheerful, and drapes herself over Oz, reaching a hand up to curl her hand in Oz's hair. "I could be drinking it directly~"

Oz groans. "_Please_ don't remind me."

and

"Give me that bottle."

At Irina's arched eyebrow, she says, "It's three am in the morning and I've completed my course work, so whatever happens next…" She shrugs.

Irina watches her for a moment, eyes unreadable. "You get it yourself."

"If you don't remember, you're currently draped over me."

"True."

Irina stumbles back to her study desk, and grabs the bottle, as well as a clear mug filled halfway with a violently purple liquid in it, and makes her way over. She passes the bottle to Oz, and settles herself into the seat next to her. Oz takes a large swig, tilting the bottle up high, and almost spits it down a moment later. Her eyes are watering, and her throat's raw from the alcohol that's just passed through.

"What by the name of the Goddess did they put in this?" she spits, when her throat feels ready to speak again.

Irina laughs. "That's why you make mixers," and takes the bottle back, adding a generous amount to her mug.

"Do you even know what you're doing?"

"Nope," is the cheerful reply.

Hmm. Her throat's stopped burning.

The liquid is turning a vicious red.

"I think I'll take my chances with the alcohol thank you very much," and gives Irina's mug a suspicious glare.

Two hours later, the whiskey is gone, and all that's left is a slight buzz. Well, for her at least. A quick glance at Irina indicates that she's still heavily drunk. Hah._ Lightweight_. (To be fair though, she has the advantage of being a mage with an excellent grasp of self applied magic. So. Cheating? Perhaps. She calls using every advantage. Her body is unusually excellent at breaking down alcohol toxins, as well, although she doesn't know why.)

"-you have a crush on the emo pseudo-princeling, Eckhart."

Oz blinks. "Who?"

For a moment, Irina's face falls. It brightens again. "Hey, no pretending," she protests as Oz's composure dissolves into laughter.

"Irina, I'm fairly sure everyone has had a mild crush on Eckhart, at some point."

"Even me?"

Oz laughs. "Even you. He's pretty, and he's Lady Aria's ward."

"Well you'd be right. Hah, but I don't want to talk about emo boy." She stares considerably at the stars above. One of the more frivolous uses of magic is to make the roof transparent, offering a brilliant view of the stars above. Irina likes frivolous. Oz indulges her.

"I know you said you wanted to be a surgeon-"

"Not any more."

Irina raises an eyebrow, but doesn't comment. She knows the wry curl of lips, and the shadows that overlap bright eyes.

"-but what did you want to be when you were younger?"

Oz blinks.

"Cygnus Knight."

"What changed your mind?"

"I didn't."

"So you're getting what you want."

She shrugs. "Perhaps, perhaps not.

"What about you?"

Irina is too perceptive and too sharp, even when drunk, to not notice Oz's short answers and divergence tactics. She doesn't comment.

"Writer," she says, and laughs. "Always a writer."

"But-"

"As much as I'd like to say that being considered doesn't mean surety, at this stage, it's common knowledge that we're Neinhart's favourites. We have power, and we're responsible-" Oz coughs. "-mostly responsible, with it."

"Hm."

"And I can always write about my missions… Whatever that's not classified that is."

Irina yawns. "I think that's about right for me," and stumbles her way over to Oz's bunk. "You can wake me up or something," she says, and crumples onto the bed, strings cut.

…Irina's bunk was on top. (They'd installed the bunk bed after Irina had said she liked high places. Oz didn't mind either way.) Oz curses, once, and decides that the sofa is fine.

No longer putting in effort to keep herself awake, she closes her eyes and drifts away.

(They wake the next morning – or rather, afternoon – to discover that they've missed half the day's classes. Oz groans from her position on the couch and makes a gimme, gimme motion in the direction she assumes the small kitchenette is, and from where the scent of coffee is wafting through the air.

They skip the rest of school and spend the day by the river because there are no bars in Erev that will allow under 18s in, regardless of time of day.

Oz thinks she sees a flash of a white and gold porcelain in the woods, but when she steps forward to get a closer look, it's gone.

Irina laughs from the top of the tree. "If he wants to tell the teachers, he will, and there's nothing to do about it."

It's one of the last peaceful days they have in a long time.)


End file.
